Stay Strong

Awakening in the 1930s

Carina's head spun as the man led her down a narrow alley away from the busy street. The cobblestones underfoot were uneven, and the air carried the sharp scent of coal smoke. It was like stepping into a dream-or a nightmare-where everything was familiar yet entirely foreign.

"Look, you're clearly lost," the man said, glancing over his shoulder at her. His accent was a crisp London one, with a slightly softer edge. "Why don't you sit down, take a moment to catch your breath?"

Carina nodded mutely, following him into what appeared to be a small café tucked between two brick buildings. Inside, the air was warm, and the chatter of patrons was subdued. The man guided her to a corner table and motioned for her to sit.

"You'll be alright here for a moment," he said. "I'll get us something to drink."

As he walked away, Carina took the chance to look around. The café was a time capsule-wooden tables and chairs, no sign of plastic or modern decor. The people inside were dressed in muted tones, their clothing modest and practical. She caught sight of her own reflection in a small mirror on the wall. Her denim jacket and fitted blouse stood out like a beacon.

Her rescuer returned moments later, placing two cups of tea on the table. He sat across from her, studying her intently.

"I'm George, by the way," he said, offering a small smile. "And you are...?"

"Carina," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Well, Carina, care to tell me where you're really from? Because you don't look or sound like you're from around here."

Carina hesitated. The truth was too bizarre, too impossible to explain. "It's... complicated," she said finally.

George raised an eyebrow but didn't press her. "Alright, fair enough. But you'll need to blend in better than that." He gestured at her outfit. "People here aren't exactly fond of... different."

She nodded, sipping the tea. It was bitter, unlike the sugary lattes she was used to, but the warmth was welcome. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Don't mention it," George replied, leaning back in his chair. "But you'll need more than tea to figure out whatever mess you've landed in."

Carina stared at him, her heart pounding. Could I tell him the truth? Would he even believe me?

Before she could decide, a commotion outside drew their attention. The café door swung open, and a man stormed in, shouting about some trouble in the marketplace. George frowned and stood.

"Stay here," he said firmly. "I'll be back."

Carina nodded, watching as he left. Alone, the reality of her situation began to sink in. She wasn't just in another part of London-she was in another time entirely. When George returned, the café had quieted, and his expression was thoughtful. He slid back into his seat, his eyes on Carina.

"Listen," he said, leaning forward. "You don't have anywhere to go, do you?" Carina shook her head.
"Alright," he said after a moment. "You can stay with me for now, but only if you're willing to trust me."
Carina hesitated, then nodded. What choice did she have? By the time they left the café, the streets were quieter, the sky darkening with the approach of evening. George led her to a modest flat in a row of brick buildings. Inside, it was simple but cozy-a small sitting room, a kitchen, and a single bedroom.
"It's not much," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it'll do for now."
Carina sat on the worn sofa, exhaustion catching up with her. George handed her a blanket, his expression softening. "You're safe here," he said quietly.

For the first time since she stepped through the door, Carina felt a flicker of hope.